


A Study in Kink

by TwoWhovianHearts



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Chastity, Chastity Device, Cock Cage, Cock Rings, Crying, Dirty Talk, Discipline, Dom!Sherlock, Dom/sub, Dominance, Edgeplay, Edging, Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Ice Play, Lube, M/M, Milking, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Orgasm Torture, Prostate Milking, Punishment, Reference to breath play, Reference to nipple clamps, Rimming, Safe signals, Safewords, Showers, Spanking, Sub!John, Submission, Vibrators, as a safeword, playfulness, ruined orgasm, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoWhovianHearts/pseuds/TwoWhovianHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John embark on a relationship journey, exploring BDSM and discovering more about themselves than each other along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Simple Deduction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Study in Frustration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/351802) by [mugenmine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugenmine/pseuds/mugenmine). 



> This is my first WIP, and was highly inspired by mugenmine's NewSub!John Headspace series. I can't promise regular updates because of college and life, but I do have four other chapters written which I'll post on a schedule.

'You want to submit to me.'

Perhaps, if it had been a question, John would have been capable of laughing it off as a joke, something quickly forgotten about. But no. That was Sherlock's deducing voice, and it caused John to spit his tea all over the Daily Mail he was in the process of reading.

Taking a few seconds to recover, he asked, 'Excuse me?'

'John, you know how I loathe to repeat myself; must you insist on having me say again what you heard perfectly the first time?'

'Oh, I heard you alright. I just want to know where you got such a ludicrous idea.' 

Sighing, Sherlock rose to a sitting position from where he lay on the sofa. Addressing John as he would a four-year-old - slowly and patronisingly - he explained his thoughts.

'From the day you met me, you've done more or less everything I ask, without question. No matter how much you dislike something I require of you, you do it anyway, simply because I want you to. You killed a man to protect me within 24 hours of knowing me. Need I go on?'

John tried to laugh, to appear unaffected, but his breathing had quickened and he was sweating nervously - reactions Sherlock would catalogue.

'Sherlock, I - I don't know what you-'

'Kneel.'

John was incredulous now, speechless, and he stared at his flatmate with a strange curiosity. He convinced himself, within about a second, that Sherlock was wrong and there was not a chance he was going to fall to his knees right there in the living room.

'Kneel, John.'

Denial was futile. That tone of voice, the way Sherlock uttered his name, rendered all of John's attempts at ignorance useless. Besides, he couldn't ignore his half-hard member, which Sherlock would have undoubtedly noticed. 

Clearly, even if he wasn't entirely interested in the proceedings, his cock was more than making up for it.

Resignation setting in, John slowly and methodically folded the ruined newspaper, placed it on the coffee table, and carefully dropped from the settee to his knees. What happened next was a shock.

The doctor's ears rang and his face stung from the force of the slap his flatmate had just delivered, with the words 'Not fast enough.' John was ready to spring up from his place on the carpet and throttle Sherlock, but was stopped in his tracks by the sight that met his eyes as he looked at the taller man. The detective's pupils were dilated and deep inside them was unmistakable lust. The former remained on the floor, and gulped noisily. Somehow, he didn't know what to do next, and the situation was unnerving, to say the least. 

What he did not expect, however, was for Sherlock to offer a hand to help him up - and then apologise! John was so shocked his legs nearly buckled again.

'I shouldn't have hit you so hard; I'm sorry.'   
The doctor had no response, so he chose to remain silent. A wise decision, apparently, because Sherlock had more to say.

'I know you want this, John. I can see it in your eyes. Every time you look at me, you're fighting the urge to throw yourself at my feet, to prostrate yourself. You lick your lips at me when you think I'm not looking, but I still see. I always see.'

At this point, John was seriously concerned that he would hyper ventilate - and still the detective wasn't finished.

'I can see, even now, John, that you're trying to fight the instinct. There's a war raging behind your eyes. It's frustrating to watch, actually - you need to simply let go and give in to your primal urges.'

A pause, while John cursed all the deities for giving Sherlock the apparent ability to read him like a book.

'Now, kneel.'

The last word was emphasised with a gentle, but insistent, pressure on John's shoulder, and he found himself complying without really thinking about it.

'Good boy.'

Now, that was interesting. At the praise, a shiver ran down John's spine and straight to his cock, which twitched eagerly. He was confused; why did that kind of language arouse him? Sherlock apparently didn't care, as long as he could use it to his advantage.

'You like that, don't you? I knew you would; I can tell just by looking at you - humiliation, degrading, dirty talk - they're all kinks of yours, aren't they, pet?' 

Another shiver, and John automatically nodded, past the point of caring how vehemently he had denied this before, because God he wanted it.  
'Good boy. Now we're on the same page, we can talk about this properly. Stand.' 

The doctor responded to the command, once again taking Sherlock's proffered hand. Once on two feet, he became extremely uncertain again - what on Earth was he playing at? - but Sherlock's palm in his kept him grounded enough to listen.

'We need to discuss this, but not now. Lestrade text me - he has a case for us. We'll come back to this later.'

'But Sherlock-'

'No.'

The rest of John's sentence caught in his throat. That word alone was enough to silence him, when spoken in the right way (like that) by the right person (Sherlock). Sighing, he resigned himself to a long day.

*****

Maybe he was just paranoid, but after their 'discussion', for want of a better word, John could swear Sherlock was using his newly-established knowledge to manipulate and take advantage of his tendencies. Not newly-discovered knowledge - no, John had no doubt his flatmate had deduced John's actions and reactions weeks ago - months even - and had simply waited for conclusive proof, whatever that might be, before declaring his findings. Regardless, the shorter man became very uncomfortable, very quickly, at the scene of the crime.

'John, place your hand here.'

'Hold this for me.'

'Don't speak.'

They were only little things, and nothing out of the ordinary - certainly, Lestrade remained oblivious - but John was certain that Sherlock was doing it deliberately. Contemplating once again the morning's bizarre events, he berated himself for so easily agreeing with Sherlock's deductions. Surely, if he had denied it strongly enough, Sherlock would have decided he'd been wrong? But even as the thought crossed his mind, the doctor banished it again. Sherlock was never wrong, and he was definitely never outwitted. Nothing John did would have 'thrown him off the scent' as it were. Curiously, this knowledge comforted him, if only a little. He convinced himself that he was powerless to Sherlock's whims, and it was these thoughts which eased his mind enough to make it through the day. When they got back to Baker St, John would tell him he'd made a mistake, that he didn't want this, and then they could go back to living their lives, the same as always.

*****

No such luck. They rushed back into 221b in the late afternoon, and John's first instinct was to make tea - that's what he did every other day, so why would now be any different? As he entered the living room with two steaming hot mugs, he caught sight of Sherlock seated in the armchair, almost regal in posture. That wasn't what made John's heart race, though - lay across Sherlock's knees was the riding crop. Not only that, but the detective was running his fingers up and down its length in a way which definitely shouldn't be sexual, and yet definitely was. Even as the doctor experienced his breathing quicken and his palms become sweaty, he cursed his body for being so responsive, and making him so easy for Sherlock to deduce. 

Quickly placing the cups of tea down, before he dropped them, John turned to face his flatmate.

'Sherlock. What are you-'

'Shh, John. There's no need for you to speak, only to listen.'

He wanted to protest, to say how ridiculous this was, to ensure Sherlock that he wasn't into this kind of thing - really, he did, but for whatever reason, he couldn't, and didn't.

'You're aroused.'

Only once the detective had pointed it out did the shorter man notice how uncomfortably tight his pants were, trapping his hard cock and betraying his feelings.

'Funny, really, how of all the things I could tell about you when we first met, this wasn't one of them. You keep it well hidden.'

His flatmate didn't think it funny, not at all, but still he said nothing.

'But slowly, as you became more comfortable around me, you began to unravel. You didn't notice, of course, or else I sincerely doubt you would have let it happen. Still, it did, and now I know you, inside and out.'

The way Sherlock worded the last sentence sounded almost predatory, and John didn't know whether to be terrified or excited by that. By the twitch of his cock, it seemed like excitement was marginally winning.

As he stood, Sherlock seemed so much taller, and the height difference was very intimidating to John, despite his army training and the fact he could knock Sherlock unconscious with complete ease - even kill him if he wanted to.

The detective took two steps towards him, and he desperately wanted to flinch away; it took all his will power to resist. Sherlock then began to stroll - no, prowl, John corrected - around him, and while all instincts told him not to let his flatmate out of sight, he managed to keep his eyes facing forward. 

Within a few seconds, Sherlock could not be seen even in his peripheral vision, and John irrationally began to panic. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no sound ever left his throat; at that moment, and strong arm came around from behind him and pushed a bright red ball between his teeth before he could protest. A ball-gag, his mind supplied, too late. Immediately, John went to struggle but Sherlock was ready for this. He gripped John's wrists tightly with his hands, before twisting them into his back and pulling the man flush against his chest. 'Shh. I told you not to speak.'

The words were a low baritone, murmured directly into John's ear, and he was helpless to the involuntary shiver which travelled through his body. Even in this - was he furious? - state of mind, the doctor couldn't help but be amazed at his flatmate. How had he known John was going to speak? He had been stood behind him, for God's sake!

More whispered words pulled him from his reverie.

'Stop thinking. I can hear the cogs whirring in your head. Just let go.' 

Perhaps the ex-soldier was imagining it, but Sherlock's voice sounded very breathy - was he aroused? The thought of his asexual flatmate being anything but asexual was laughable, but John knew that his initial thought must have been wrong. Sherlock never did anything he would gain nothing from, so it only made sense that this was sexually beneficial to him too.

To confirm his theory, John pressed his arse into Sherlock's groin - yes, definitely hard - and was rewarded (or reprimanded, depending on how you look at it) by a tightening of Sherlock's hands around his wrists and a sharp bite to his right earlobe which made him gasp in surprise and pain... and arousal?

Somehow, Sherlock seemed to know how erotic John had found that bite, for he repeated the action and gained the same results. The detective hummed in what was undeniable approval.

'Oh, John. How I will unravel you, until there is nothing left to hide, until you are laid bare for me. I will make you mine.' 

The last sentence was barely audible, even in such close proximity to John's ear, and it sent tremors through his whole body and make his cock jump. He was unnerved, certainly - he didn't know whether Sherlock's words were a threat or a promise. But actually, he found that once he thought about it, he really didn't care.


	2. A Safeword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys really begin there exploratory journey, with much drama.

Events progressed no further from that point until a week later. Both Sherlock and John had been very busy with a highly interesting case - which Sherlock had rated an 8 - and neither man had given much more thought to the exchange. That is, until the detective appeared at John's bedroom door on Sunday morning.

'Choose a safeword.'

Still half-asleep, John genuinely misheard.

'I'm sorry, what?'

'A safeword. You need to choose one.' Sherlock's tone was 100% nonchalant, and his flatmate was unsure whether to be disturbed or comforted by that.

'A safeword. What for?' The doctor had no idea why he was trying to appear oblivious, when he was fully aware that his flatmate would see right through it. He supposed it gave him reassurance that he had at least tried to maintain his dignity.

Sherlock sighed impatiently. 'If this is to continue - and by 'this' I mean our power exchange, for want of a better term - you need to choose a word that will tell me to stop.'

'Wait- what- I don't-' John was sat upright now, but his head was spinning and the information Sherlock was spouting off did not help.

'Of course, we don't have to do this. If you don't want to, tell me now and I'll never mention it again. But that _means_ never. It's your choice.'

This was all very weird. The doctor contemplated telling his flatmate that they got it wrong, that this kind of thing didn't interest him. But if he did, he'd be lying to himself as well as to Sherlock. So, gathering all his resolve, and managing remarkably well to hide his embarrassment, he replied: 'No, I want to do it. But I don't need a safeword; I trust you.'

A flicker of something crossed the detective's eyes, but within a second it was gone. 

'On your head be it,' he replied, before crossing to John's bed and sitting at the foot of it.

'Over my knee. Now, please.'

Seeing the shocked look on John's face at his request - no, his order - he raised an eyebrow. John was gob-smacked, but felt that Sherlock would not appreciate another unintelligent 'What?' Instead, he swallowed his pride, and crawled out from under the covers and on to The detective's lap.

'Place your hands on the floor or on my ankles.'

John did the latter, just in time to steady himself for the almighty slap to his arse at Sherlock's hand. The doctor jumped, but made no sound, determined - or stubborn enough - to remain silent through this. Whatever this was. 

Caught up in his thoughts, he wasn't expecting the second hit, which landed in the same place as the first and jolted John from his reverie. He reminded himself to pay attention and brace himself, at the same time wondering if this was really happening. For the next dozen hits, John pondered the whole strange scenario - he was over his flatmate's knee, being spanked like a child. And why? Because Sherlock had deduced that he wanted it. As much as he loathed to admit it, the doctor knew, albeit begrudgingly, that he was right.

And, as if agreeing, his cock chose that moment to become hard enough to press against the detective's leg. John was mortified. Oh God, what must Sherlock think? He wriggled, trying to get up, but the slaps continued - what number were they up to now? - and Sherlock only tightened his grip on John's back. Apparently, the taller man was unperturbed by his arousal, much to John's relief.

Sherlock continued spanking John's behind through his pyjamas, and the latter man became almost painfully hard. He relaxed into the pain being delivered at the hand of his flatmate, and was just starting to get used to the level of pain - he had quite a high threshold, especially after his army days - when he felt his trousers being roughly pulled off, exposing his bare behind. He wanted to protest - he really did - but if John was anything, he was stoic - and stubborn - and was still determined to remain silent. So when the spanking continued, harder than before (or was it because the contact was skin-to-skin now?) he bit his lip, tongue, anything to keep from crying out.

John was unnerved that as he continued, Sherlock remained silent, as he had since they began. He wanted him to say something, anything. 

Another slap. The spanking was definitely getting stronger now, more forceful, and the doctor almost forgot to remain silent. Although he had been painfully aroused, the severe nature of the punishment to his backside was causing his erection to wilt a little. John had had enough, and hoped Sherlock would stop soon, because he didn't know how much longer he could stay quiet. Tears were threatening to fall from his eyes, and for a military man such as himself, that would be the greatest indignity. But he was beginning to think that actually, the flaming heat of his arse was worse.

After another extremely firm and forceful spank, he gave up. That was it, John couldn't hold it anymore: he cried out in pain. In a way, he felt a little relieved, confident that Sherlock would stop now he knew it had become too much. And after all, nothing could be more humiliating than being spanked, so why would crying out make a difference?

But no; yet another hit came. John didn't understand; he began to panic. Sherlock wasn't stopping. He had heard John's cry, had witnessed his resolve breaking, and still he carried on?

Another ten hits, and the doctor was howling now, yelling on every slap. His tears were hitting the floor like raindrops, and he didn't know what else he could do to make his flatmate ease up on his sore bum. He wriggled and struggled, and tried to push against Sherlock's left arm, which kept him secured to his knees, but surprisingly, despite John's military training, Sherlock was stronger than him. No matter how much he tried to move, he could not, and he found much to his chagrin and dismay that the younger man only increased the force of his hits the more John struggled. Wasn't his hand hurting? Surely he would have to stop and rest soon.

Another 5 minutes past, and another 50 or so evenly spaced slaps; John was seriously beginning to give up hope.

Oh, but there was one thing he had yet to try. It was the lowest of the low, and the shorter man hated himself for even considering it. But he was in so much pain, crying out on every hit, no longer holding an erection, and he was seriously doubting his ability to last much longer without passing out. There was nothing else for it.

Steeling himself, and waving goodbye to any shred of dignity he may have less, he begged.

'Please Sherlock, p-please stop.'

'I can't - I can't take anymore-'

'Aaah! Sherlock, please-'

'Please! Please, stop, please-'

'Please, I'm begging you! Pl-'

But it was no good, he couldn't squeeze in his words between each smack. And so it continued. John had tried everything, and nothing had worked, and as soon as this ended (if it ended) he was going to tell Sherlock that the arrangement - whatever it was - would not work and he never wanted to do anything like that again. But that still didn't solve his current situation. He was distraught; if only there was something, a get-out clause, so to speak, which would finally make Sherlock to stop...

Oh. Bugger. Shit.

_One point to Sherlock_. John, even through his tears and his intense pain had the presence of mind to mentally congratulate Sherlock both for his inventiveness and his judgement. Maybe now he would stop.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock, I-'

'Sherlock, listen to me! I-'

No. He still couldn't fit the words in between the harsh hits being delivered. He'd just have to be extremely quick about it.

'Aaahh! Sherlock, stop! I'll-'

Another hard spank.

'I'LL CHOOSE A SAFEWORD!'

That was it. No more hits, no more abuse to his red, bruised arse. The only sound now was John's pained sobbing, which was muffled by Sherlock's trouser leg. After a few seconds, the doctor felt his flatmate rubbing soothing circles on his lower back, and it was more comforting than John thought it ought to be. Also a surprise was that Sherlock spoke his first words since the whole episode began.

'I told you to choose a safeword, John. Didn't I?'

Assuming the question was rhetorical, the older man remained silent, apart from his strained sobs, which he was having difficulty controlling.

Crack! John let out a pained yelp as Sherlock landed another slap to his abused arse, no-where near as hard as before, but still enough for it to hurt considerably.

'Didn't I?'

'Yes!' John answered rather hastily, having no desire to be spanked anymore now - or ever again.

'But you didn't listen, did you?'

'N-no'.

John's crying had turned into muffled sobs, and though he would never voice the thought out loud, he had a feeling Sherlock rubbing the bottom of his back had something to do with it.

'Now, I'm going to ask you again. What is your safeword?'

John thought about it. Did he really want to continue with this? Less than five minutes ago, he had vowed to end it as soon as the spanking stopped, but now, he could think clearly. Of course, in that kind of pain, he would want to do anything to make it stop. He wasn't sure if he wanted the whole thing to carry on, even now he was clear-headed, and was tempted to call a halt to it. But he remembered how aroused he was to start with, how much he enjoyed it before it became too much. Would he really give that away because - due to his own stupidity - things had gone too far?

'John..'

Sherlock's voice held warning as he placed his hand on his flatmate's sore behind and began to apply pressure.

'Ah! I know, I'm just thinking.'

Sherlock eased up again.

What word could he choose? He supposed it didn't matter, so he said, 'I don't know; you choose.'

John nearly screamed as another punishing blow was delivered, and a fresh bout of sobbing burst forth. Still Sherlock's tone remained firm and steady.

'It's your safeword; you have to choose it. It has no meaning if I do.'

The doctor sniffed, and then it came to him. 'Moriarty.'

A pause, then a grunt which indicated the detective's agreement. The aforementioned detective was back to rubbing circles on John's skin, and he bent low to whisper in John's ear.

'Have you learnt your lesson now?'

John nodded, but said nothing. Thankfully, it was enough. 

A longer pause, then:  
'You're beautiful like this, you know?'

The doctor was stunned. He rarely heard Sherlock call anything - or anyone - beautiful, so for that praise to be aimed at him was awe-inspiring.

'Unravelled, broken down, torn apart.' So apparently he wasn't finished, and John was content to listen.

'When all your defenses are down, your barriers taken away, and you're laid bare like this, for me..' Sherlock sighed. 'You're mine, John Watson. _Mine._ '

In a roundabout way, that was quite possibly the nicest thing Sherlock had ever said to him. Or anyone had said to him, actually. 

'And don't you ever forget it.' The last word was punctuated by a firm bite to the shell of John's left ear, and the action, combined with the obvious possessive feelings that laced the detective's words, caused the doctor's cock to make an attempt at hardening again. Sherlock felt it against his leg, and chuckled, in a very predatory manner. 

'Do you like this, John? What I do to you?' 

The man in question had only one answer for that. 

' _God_ , yes.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading; come and say hi on tumblr! twowhovianhearts.tumblr.com


	3. A Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our pair make a start on building their relationship, laying down some ground rules and making some interesting discoveries.

Another case came along, another distraction, and both John and Sherlock carried on as normal, forgetting all about the events of the previous Sunday - or pretending to, at least. But the case was an easy one, solved in a few days, and it was obvious that with the two men in the flat and nothing to do, Sherlock would inevitably bring the topic up. And he did.

'John.'

'Hmm?' The latter man was sat on the sofa, drinking tea and attending to his blog, while Sherlock was sprawled across the armchair.

'Look at me.'

For a second, John didn't even relate the words to any kind of power exchange; he merely saw it as a simple request. When he looked up, however, the lust in his best friend's eyes was undeniable. Oh. John's cock twitched in anticipation of what might come next. Of course, he had no idea what Sherlock had planned, if anything, but he was excited none the less.

'Come over here.'

The doctor hesitated for only a second before he shut his laptop and stood up. He walked across the room to the other man, and came to a halt in front of him, standing awkwardly.

'Okay, rules.'

John didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this. Rules? He was intrigued.

Sherlock straightened up and began to talk in rapid-fire sentences.

'I have given you plenty of chances to back out, if you so desired, and you have declined each time. If, when I have finished talking, you still agree, you will waiver your last chance to change your mind. What happens after that is down to me alone.'

John gulped; it sounded ominous. He had no time to ponder, however, because the detective did not stop talking.

'Rule number one. When I call you, you kneel, head up, eyes down, legs spread, hands behind your back. No exceptions, except in public or if I instruct you otherwise. 

'Number two. Your safeword is 'Moriarty'. If anything goes too far or gets out of hand, you use it, without fear of consequences. If I suspect you wanted to use it, but didn't, I will punish you.

'Three. For the time-being, the nature of our relationship remains between the two of us, until further notice. If we want to try an alternative in the future, we will discuss it first.

'Four. You don't come without my permission. Your pleasure and orgasms belong to me now. That means no touching yourself without my explicit permission either. I am not a cruel Dom, but neither am I a lenient one. You will experience pleasure if and when I say you can.  
'Five. You can speak freely, unless I tell you otherwise, but any speaking out of turn or above your position as my sub will be punished.

'Six. For the moment, our private and public lives will remain completely separate; I will not punish you for anything done outside of the 'bedroom' so to speak. Again, we may discuss a change to this rule in the future, if either of us is so inclined.

'Number seven. You may address me as Sir, unless I say otherwise. I will continue to call you by your name, as long as there is nothing else you would prefer.

'Finally, rule number eight. A disregard of any of the rules will result in punishment as I see fit. Only valid reasons will be accepted; I want no excuses.'

It took John a few seconds to realise Sherlock had finished - he had been trying hard to concentrate on absorbing the words. He felt the younger man scrutinising him, before the query: 'Do you have anything to add?'

'What?' John shook his head to clear it. 'Oh, er, no. It all seems okay to me.'

'You do understand what I'm asking for here, don't you, John?'

The man in question nodded, a little uncertainly.

'This isn't a game; it isn't something we can 'play at' for a little bit, until you tire of it. What I'm asking for - what I want you to give to me - is your complete and utter submission. In return, I promise to care for you, and all your needs.'

John almost laughed at that - the very idea that Sherlock would willingly look after someone, when he barely looked after himself - was amusing.

Sherlock caught the twinkle in his flatmate's eye.

'You may scoff, John, but I think I am more than capable of looking after you. Anyone else, then no. But you... you are fascinating, and you are beautiful. How could I pass up on that?'

Any laughter John may have had bubbling inside was gone, and in its place something indefinable, warm and comforting. Sherlock seriously, genuinely cared about him? The thought was enough to melt his insides.

'So, John. Do you agree to my terms?'

In not-so-many words, Sherlock had just bared his heart to him. How could he refuse after that?

The doctor looked into the younger man's eyes and nodded. 'Yes. I agree.' 

'Excellent.'

Sherlock's face took on a vibrant, fascinated expression, the same one which graced his features whenever he discovered a new case. John had the ominous feeling that he was all Sherlock's Christmas presents at once, but he couldn't bring himself to care very much.

'I want you to kneel, in position, between my legs.'

Taken a little by surprise, John asked 'Now?'

'Of course now, when else would I mean? Don't make me say it again.' The detective's tone was warning, so John hastened to comply. He felt a little stupid, kneeling there in front of Sherlock, and had to remind himself that he wanted this. Then the aforementioned man began running his hands all over John, touching him and - wait a minute. It transpired that Sherlock was correcting his posture. Arms tight behind his back, intertwined from wrist to elbow, pushing his chest out. Head high, chin up, eyes lowered. Knees spread. The detective continued to alter his sub until he was satisfied.  
'Perfect.'

Even that little word, just one, sent shivers down John's spine. For his flatmate to sound so in awe of him, and so possessive, was unnerving, yes, but it was also endearing, and made John smile - which of course Sherlock noticed.

'You are perfect, aren't you, John?'

'If you think so, Sir.'

The word felt weird on his tongue, but a nice kind of weird. John decided he liked it, very much.

'Now, I was going to simply ask you what kind of things you liked, so that I could decide where to go with this, but there'd be no fun in that, would there?'

'No, Sir.'

'So, instead, I've decided that I'll make a complete list of all possible kinks. You can cross off the ones you aren't willing to try under any circumstances, and then I will explain what we are going to do with the remainder of the list. Understood?'

'Yes, Sir.' John had a feeling that for Sherlock, he was yet another experiment, another puzzle waiting to be solved. To have that kind of energy and enthusiasm focused on him was.. well, it was heart-warming, actually.

'You may stand.'

Grateful for the reprieve, as his knees were beginning to ache, John rose with a groan - the doctor wasn't young anymore, and as that thought crossed his mind, he realised that at his age, a relationship such as the one he had recently formed with Sherlock was even more unconventional.

The detective stood, too, and said, 'What you do now is up to you, but I do not wish to be disturbed until I'm finished constructing the list. I will notify you when it's ready.'

'Okay.' John replied. What he did not expect was for Sherlock to lean in and bite his right ear, so forcefully that the shorter man couldn't help but cry out.

Releasing the flesh but remaining in close proximity, Sherlock murmured in a dangerously low tone of voice, 'Okay, what?'

'Sir. Okay, sir.' John hastened to reply - the detective's bite had really hurt! 

Nodding in approval, Sherlock swept from the room, leaving the doctor stood looking slightly bewildered. To no-one in particular, he muttered, 'I need a cup of tea.'

*****

For John, the following hour or so was a very uncomfortable one, and he didn't know whether that was due to impatience or fear of the unknown. The whole crazy situation kept replaying in his head; he was still having some difficulty believing that this - whatever 'this' entailed - was actually happening.

John flushed with shame and embarrassment as he recalled the way he so readily knelt at Sherlock's feet earlier on. And yet, he could not deny that it aroused him to be under the power and authority of another. And again, when Sherlock had bitten his ear, it had hurt, a lot, but somehow, it only aroused the doctor more. That's what was confusing; was this normal?  
He laughed aloud at this thought. Since when was anything involving Sherlock even remotely normal? And he'd never cared about that before, had he? Strangely, this notion had the effect of reassuring John that there was no need to be ashamed, or worried, or have any other negative feeling towards this new relationship. He would just enjoy it as far as it went.

It seemed that the doctor came to this conclusion at the most opportune time, for it was only ten minutes after his mind settled that he heard Sherlock call his name. Rising from his place on the sofa, he walked towards the detective's room, steeling himself the best he could. When he entered, he did so tentatively, hovering at the front of Sherlock's bed and waiting for the other man, who was sat on the bed with some paper in front of him, to speak.

Sherlock's eyes bore into John's for a couple of minutes, and though it was very unnerving, the doctor held his gaze. 

'What is rule number one, John?'  
John was confused for just a second. Rule numb- oh. He quickly knelt in the correct position, apologising profusely. 'I'm sorry. Sorry, sir. I forgot, I'm sorry.'

Rising from the bed with elegance only the great Sherlock Holmes could possess, he padded over to the kneeling man and placed a warm hand firmly on his shoulder. 

'Relax; you're new to this. To start with, I won't be punishing you too severely, and, on this occasion, I'm going to let your transgression pass.

John let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Relieved, he murmured, 'Thank you, sir,' and the detective hummed his acceptance.  
'Now, I have compiled a list of every single kink known to man, so I shall be highly surprised if you have one I have missed.' 

There was a quirk in Sherlock's voice which made the shorter man giggle nervously.

'You are to go through the list, when I give it to you. I want you to read it carefully and completely, more than once. Then, you will have twenty-four hours to complete the list. By this, I mean that you will mark on each item whether you want to try it, if you are willing to try it for me, or whether you refuse to try it. Don't concern yourself with how I will feel at your choices - they are yours alone to make. Is that clear?'

John nodded, too overwhelmed with the barrage of information to use words. For Sherlock, however, this was not good enough, for he pushed John's head to the floor, effectively presenting his arse, and gave him a heavy slap to his rear.

'I said, is that clear, John?'

Finding his voice, the latter replied,  
'Y-yes, sir.'

Sherlock let go and John rose onto his knees once more. The younger man retrieved the list from the bed and handed it to the doctor, with only the words 'Twenty-four hours. You may go.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can say hi to me on tumblr: twowhovianhearts.tumblr.com


	4. An Unfortunate Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will John ever learn?

John padded into his room, valiantly trying to calm his breathing. However, it was very difficult, with the stinging in his arse from Sherlock's recent slap serving as a constant reminder of why his breathing was so erratic in the first place.

24 hours, John thought. So much time, and yet so little. Looking at the clock on his bedside table, he noted that it was 5:10 pm, and made a decision. He would read through it now, then sleep on it and read it again in the morning, before making any decisions. And so it was that the doctor came to sit, cross-legged, on his bed, with a list of all kinks known to man (or to Sherlock) in his lap. In typical Sherlockian fashion, as John noticed when he began to read, the list was divided into categories - Role-play, Sexual Acts, and the like - and each category was alphabetised. As the man's eyes scanned the pages in front of him, his face was in a constant state of metamorphosis. Disbelief, interest, embarrassment, incredulity - all and more crossed his features, and his thoughts were sparking off like fireworks.

_Urethral sounds. No thank you!_  
Spanking. That one's already decided...  
What on earth is 'zipping'? 

After having read through the whole document once, John did it again. And again. He became lost in a whirlwind of curiosity mingled with fear, but he quashed the latter with one question: did he trust Sherlock? The answer, of course, was affirmative, and this helped to remove the fright he felt, replaced only by nervous anticipation. Before he knew it, the time was 8:25 pm and he was completely shattered. The man fell asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers.

*****

The predominant feeling in John's mind, waking up 11 hours later, was gratefulness that today was a Saturday. It meant he would have all day to consider properly the list that Sherlock had handed to him the day before, rather than having to go to the surgery. Sitting up groggily, he rubbed his eyes and took in his still-dressed state, and groaned. He moved the list, which had become a little crumpled overnight, onto the bedside table, before going for a shower.

*****

9:30am, John noted, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. He still had around eight hours to complete his assignment - to carry out his orders. (That particular phrasing sent a little shiver along his spine.) Eight hours seemed like plenty of time, but John had no idea where to begin. It was his intention to simply go through each item on the list now, one by one, and to place a yes or no next to every bullet point. But after reading the exhaustive document for what must have been the fifteenth time, the doctor concluded that his task would not be as simple as that. Decisions on many of the items were not straight-forward affairs as John had expected. Rather, he found that he spent rather a long time thinking about his answers, without coming to any definite decisions. But it was then that an idea occurred to him. If Sherlock can be logical, he mused, so can I. He therefore decided that, rather than having simply 'Yes' or 'No' for his responses, he would apply a spectrum between 1-5, with 1 being 'extremely reluctant to try' and 5 being 'extremely enthusiastic'. He also used a cross next to those items which he was unwilling to try under any circumstances.

With this system now in place, John found that the list seemed a lot less formidable, and far easier to get through. In fact, at 11:20, he placed a score next to the last item on the sheet, stood triumphantly - or as triumphantly as he could whilst alone in his bedroom - and went to make himself a well-earned cup of tea.

*****

'You've finished.'

'Jesus, Sherlock, don't creep up on me like that!'

John turned away from the kettle to face his flatmate, whose proximity was startling. Before he could say anything further, however, Sherlock had brought his right hand up and gripped John's chin between his thumb and index finger. His eyes were a storm of blue and green, pupils already dilated, and his next words, barely audible but just as effective, if not more, as if they were shouted, made it difficult for the doctor to catch a breath.

'I don't believe it's your place to tell me what to do, is it, slut?'

Oh, God. That was new. John, apparently, had a kink for derogatory name-calling - his cock, almost completely hard in a matter of seconds, was testimony to that. And of course, Sherlock noticed, bringing his other hand down to John's crotch and palming him roughly through his trousers.

'Sherlock..' The name escaped as a hiss through the smaller man's gritted teeth, the two syllables laced with arousal and the very beginnings of desperation. His head was tilted backwards and his eyes were closed - which was unfortunate, really, because it meant that he didn't see the dark smile which graced Sherlock's face and lingered in his eyes, and was therefore completely unprepared for the hard slap, which followed immediately after the detective released John's chin, and which rang out loudly through the kitchen.

'Now, my dirty boy, that isn't my name, is it?' 

The question was growled into the doctor's ear, low and threatening. John let out a huge breath, his cheek burning both in humiliation and in physical pain, before he replied deferentially.

'No, Sir. I'm sorry.'

A chuckle escaped Sherlock's perfect, bow-shaped lips. 'You're not, John. Not yet.' The 'but you will be' was implied.

'Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You've finished your checklist.'

John looked at his flatmate with the face he usually reserved for particularly impressive deductions at crime scenes.

'Yes, Sir,' he replied, not keeping the surprise from his voice but still maintaining a respectful tone. 'How did you know?' 

'Oh, John, you look like somebody just lifted a 10-tonne boulder off your shoulders. It's quite endearing, actually.'

John was unsure what to say, so he remained silent. It seemed Sherlock was pondering something or other, so a minute passed with both staring into each other's faces. The detective took in every detail of John. His cheeks both flushed, but his left far more deeply due to the impact of Sherlock's slap. His eyes, darting across Sherlock's face, nervous, uncertain, excited. His throat, where each breath was visible. His lips, parted slightly and extremely kissable.

The shorter man, on the other hand, could focus only on one thing: Sherlock's eyes. It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and in that moment, John was most definitely not arguing with such an assessment. As was typical, the rest of Sherlock's features were schooled into a blank look, but not his eyes. No, they were swirling with lust, excitement, anticipation, power... he could go on but, of course, Sherlock had other plans.

'I want you in position, John. Quickly, if you could.'

Immediately, the doctor dropped to his knees, with a remarkable amount of grace, and took a few seconds to correct his positioning before falling still.

'You're getting good at this', Sherlock murmured, almost off-handedly, as he began to circle John casually. Then, more quietly but still audible: 'I'm proud of you.'

If the kneeling man wasn't already silent, he would have been shocked into it by the effect those four, simple words had on him. Sherlock had, undoubtedly, never had pride for anything other than his work, and even that would be better described as smug self-satisfaction. So for Sherlock to be proud of John... well, it was electrifying, and the doctor visibly shivered, causing the detective to hum approvingly.

'It's funny,' Sherlock began, and John grimaced internally - because anything that Sherlock found 'funny' was most likely not funny at all - and braced himself for the inevitable.

'One thing I didn't automatically deduce about you, John, was this side of your personality. Because you need my praise just as much as you need my rough treatment, don't you?' 

The man in question was very uncomfortable with the stark truth of that evaluation, and remained silent, praying the question was rhetorical. But no. Slowly, carefully, Sherlock crouched down behind John, and wove a hand gently into his hair, pushing him into a false sense of security. He then took a handful of it, and yanked so hard that John instinctively cried out, and for a split-second had the irrational thought that his neck was snapped - until, of course, Sherlock once again brought him to his senses. 

'Don't you, slut? Answer me.' It was spoken in barely more than a whisper, and on the surface seemed like a simple question. Spoken in that octave though, in that tone - the subtext spoke volumes that the words did not.

Head still forcefully pulled onto Sherlock's shoulder, John panted, 'Yes, Sir', and the taller man released him, leaving him breathless.

'Well, now that the pleasantries are over and done with, I'll tell you what's going to happen next.' He stood up before continuing. 'You're going to fetch the document, the checklist, and bring it back here to me. Is that understood?'

'Yes, Sir.' Relief filled John now that the situation seemed to have calmed down a little - not that he didn't enjoy being left breathless and dizzy by the domineering genius, of course he did, but it just made him extremely disorientated. A simple order like this, he could follow easily without becoming too flustered for coherent thought. He moved to stand, but met resistance in the form of Sherlock's hand pushing down on his undamaged shoulder.

'I don't think so, John. No, I'd like you to crawl.'

The very idea should have had the shorter man running a mile away, but there was no denying whatsoever the blood which rushed straight to his cock at the mental images conjured by the utterance. It suddenly reminded John how very... interested he was in the scene.

'Yes, Sir,' he replied, not the kind of person to make the same mistake twice, and - somewhat reluctantly? - moved onto all fours before moving forward towards his bedroom. He was all-too-aware of his flatmate's - no, his Dom's - eyes on his arse, so exposed due to his position, and it took a great deal of will-power not to turn around and meet them. But he was determined to be a good sub for Sherlock, to make him proud, and therefore carried on steadily, reveling in the contented sigh he heard from behind him.

*****

Reaching his room, John wondered if he was allowed to stand now, but quickly thought better of it. If Sherlock wanted him on his feet, he would say, and he hadn't. That left his only option as remaining on his hands and knees.  
He moved to the bedside table, and knelt up to grasp the several-page long checklist. Then, he realised, there was a slight problem. It would be difficult to crawl with the paper in his hand, without dropping it. So he resolved to carry it in his teeth - and the humiliating implications of this action did not go unnoticed, and once again John's cock made itself noticed, if that was possible - the man had long passed the point of uncomfortable. Perhaps if he just adjusted himself in his pants, just a little...

No. He couldn't; the rules stated that he could not touch himself without permission. But then again, he was becoming increasingly desperate and surely it didn't count if it was through his pants? 

It was decided, and John used the hand not holding the list to re-position his cock. But God, that felt so good, and the doctor found himself massaging his bulge for a few seconds, before coming to his senses and jerking his hand away as if shocked by electricity. His pulse was racing and his breathing sounded laboured. 

What had he done?

A moment of panic, then he chuckled silently. Why was he panicking? Even Sherlock, with his amazing deduction skills, couldn't see through solid walls. So John calmed his breathing, took the checklist into his mouth, and moved his weight onto his hands again. It took him half a minute to return to the living room, where Sherlock had sat down in his chair - but it was the riding crop he was swinging onto his left hand with soft tapping noises which made John's breath catch in his throat. At the noise, he looked up and smirked, but the crawling man had no doubt Sherlock already recognised his presence.

There was a glint of mischief in his flatmate's eye, but John had no time to worry before he heard the words, 'Well done, slut.' He smiled around the paper, and made to move forward, but the next sentence, spoken with far too much amusement and triumph for his liking, caused him not only to stop moving, but also to drop the paper out of his mouth in favour of gaping at Sherlock.

'You just lost yourself the right to orgasm tonight.'


	5. A Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets the consequences of his actions, but struggles to find the difference between reward and punishment...

'Oh, John. And I had such an amazing night planned for us. Of course, the night will go the same way, except for one tiny element. Instead of our activities culminating in your orgasm, _I_ will be sated while you will go to bed hard, aching and more desperate than you've ever been in your entire life.' 

John visibly shuddered, torn between immeasurably aroused and equally immeasurably nervous. He was still confused as to what it was he was being punished for - because it was, undoubtedly, a punishment - but Sherlock's eyes glinted, and in that moment, John felt so small, so intimidated, that his confusion didn't matter.

'Was it worth it, hmm? That split-second feel, the momentary relief... that warm hand on your cock?'

Oh. Sherlock knew. Of _course_ he knew.

_How could I be so stupid?_ he thought. Sherlock had deduced pretty much his whole life before he'd even opened his mouth on the day they first met, so how would he not work out what John had been doing in his bedroom?

Returning to Sherlock's question, it was one that the doctor could answer very easily, yet he was still reluctant to. However, this reluctance was outweighed by anxiety as to what Sherlock's actions would be if he chose not to reply. So, eyes downcast,

'No, Sir'.

'No. I didn't think so. Now let's begin.'

*****

The detective used the riding crop he was still holding, a prominent feature in so many of John's fantasies, to gesture as he laid out his orders. 

'I want you to pick up your list again, with your teeth, and bring it here at my feet before kneeling. Is that understood?'

John may not have been allowed to orgasm now, but it obviously didn't mean Sherlock would stop him enjoying himself - there was no denying how much being controlled, ordered to and fro, dominated, _owned_ , was arousing to him. And so it was with some enthusiasm that he gave his affirmative 'Yes, Sir' and followed the order obediently.

The detective chuckled, and though it was clearly mocking, John was unoffended. Rather, he found that it just turned him on more.

'Eager little slut, aren't we, hmm?' Sherlock murmured patronisingly as his flatmate came to rest in position below him. 'Such a good little sub, desperate to please... most of the time.' His smile was knowing, and John cringed at the thought of his earlier disobedience.

'Don't misunderstand, I like a bit of fire in my submissive - I don't want a mindlessly obedient pet. After all, there's no fun in that, is there? I do, however, expect my rules to be followed. And you chose not to follow them, didn't you, John?'

It was strange how the kneeling man actually felt guilty for disobeying Sherlock - he hadn't expected this aspect of their new dynamic.  
Guiltily, he nodded his head, not meeting his Dom's eyes. 'Yes, Sir.'

_His Dom_. When had he started referring to Sherlock as that, instinctively and without having to think about it? John supposed it didn't matter. All that did was that this - their relationship, if that's what it could be called - was officially a part of his life now, and he couldn't be happier about it.

The low baritone of Sherlock's voice jolted him from his thoughts in a rather unforgiving manner.

'Remind me, John. What is rule number four?'

Four. Number four. What could it- oh, of course.

'I'm not allowed to touch myself or to come without permission, Sir', John all but mumbled, and it seemed this barely intelligible level of volume was displeasing to Sherlock, because he jerked his right hand, which held the riding crop, causing it to snap under John's chin sharply. It wasn't painful, as such, but the doctor jerked away from it anyway, more due to the shock than anything else.

Despite his harsh actions, Sherlock's voice remained as calm and steady as ever. 

'What was that, John? I couldn't quite hear you.'

The kneeling man on the floor took a deep breath, and began again, speaking more slowly and clearly than his first time.

'I must not touch myself or come without your permission, Sir.'

A quiet hum of approval sounded above his head as Sherlock lowered the crop. 'That's right. And what about rule number eight?'

This was one John didn't have to think about - it was one he was nervous and excited about in equal measure.

'You will punish me for any transgressions, Sir.'

Again, an agreement, before Sherlock spoke again. 

'So John, here are the facts. Rule four states that you can't touch yourself without permission. You touched yourself in your bedroom before. Rule eight states that I will punish you for breaking the rules. What do you deduce from this information, slut?'

Once again, John's body shivered slightly at the derogatory term, and he was thankful he knew the answer to his Dom's cryptic puzzle.

'You're going to punish me for my disregard of rule number four, sir.'

'Hmm.' Sherlock was audibly smirking now - John, despite keeping his head lowered, could hear the laugh in his voice.

'As I mentioned earlier, this punishment will be the loss of any right to orgasm this evening. So brace yourself, my dear Doctor, because you are in for a long night.'

*****

'Please,' he begged, his eyes pleading more than his words.

'No.' Sherlock was having none of it.

'Please, Sir, I'm so hard it hurts!'

With a dark smile, Sherlock nodded. 'I know. That's the beauty of this. The delicate balance of pleasure and pain; that's your focus.'

'But, Sir, just please-'

'Enough. I said no.'

John whimpered slightly at the new-found stern tone in the detective's voice.

'Now, unless you want me to gag you, I suggest you be quiet. Is that clear?'

With his wrists already bound at the small of his back, and the hated cock ring secure, John had no desire to be made even more helplessly vulnerable, so he simply nodded, keeping his lips tightly sealed. 

'That's better. We still have several rounds to go, so if you want to come at all today, you'll behave.'

Sherlock paused in thought, before addressing the doctor once more. 'I think, this time, I'll just use my fingertips; I dare say this will be very interesting - more so for myself than for you.'

Crossing his legs where he sat on the bed, he stroked John's thighs, taut with the effort of holding him on his knees, before moving his fingers towards the purple member between his legs. 

Gently, with barely enough pressure to feel, Sherlock placed the very tips of his right thumb and forefinger onto the head of his cock. John gulped, but otherwise remained silent, as the detective's fingers rotated in small circles, moving the foreskin back and forth teasingly. 

'Nngghhh...' John groaned after several moments, and the fingers were immediately removed until he quieted. They returned to their teasing motions, and only stopped when John began panting with the effort of holding in the noises he so desperately wanted to make.

'Good boy.' Sherlock ran his left hand through the doctor's hair affectionately. 'We're nearly done, and if you keep up your resilience, I may overlook your actions, and let you come this evening. You just have to behave for me, okay?'

John leant into the hand, and nodded, breathless and pliant. He was so easy to mould into Sherlock's design, and this was the core of their relationship - the very glue which held it together.

'I want you to know that, as this is the last round, it will be also the most difficult. No matter what, I do not want to hear you. Feel free to pant, but one moan, one grunt, and it will all be over. You will go straight to bed without relief, and I will sort myself out in the shower. You don't want that, do you?'

John shook his head firmly. He was absolutely desperate to come, there was no way he'd do anything to jeopardise his chances.

'Good. Shuffle towards me a little.'

John obeyed, using his knees as leverage to rock forward, until Sherlock told him to stop. At this point, there was barely a centimetre of space between the pair, and the doctor was slightly unnerved, making a conscious effort to keep his eyes lowered. His line of sight was drawn to his aching erection, however, when Sherlock grasped it firmly in both hands. He began with slow, rythmic strokes, slowly building speed until John was close to crying out, his orgasm building, and then- 

Sherlock stopped, and before he could catch himself, the bound man growled in frustration, before realising what he'd done.

'No, Sir please, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!'

Sherlock frowned deeply. 'Irrelevant, John. The fact is, you made a noise - a growl, in fact - when I specifically instructed you to stay silent.' 

'But I.. it just slipped out, I'm sorry-' John nearly cried in desperation. He had been so close, and to have that just snatched away... he wanted to scream.

'It's too late, John. The damage is done.'

The detective moved behind his lover's back to untie his hands, a disappointed look shaping his facial features, as John hung his head, his erection only more prominent with the knowledge that he was allowed to do nothing to relieve it.

This would be a restless night.

*****

'I want you to sleep in your own room tonight, one final time before you move into my _boudoir_ '.

John snorted, massaging his wrists, and both men giggled slightly. 

Sherlock regained his composure first, and continued.

'Before you sleep, I want you to think about all we've done tonight. Think about your punishment, and how we arrived there; how you felt about it, as well as everything else we've talked about. I want you to be sure about where you want this to go before we share a bed. Am I clear?'

John nodded. 'Crystal.'

Smiling, Sherlock opened his arms. 'Come here.'

John moved forward a few steps and allowed his the taller man to envelop him in his arms. Both relaxed into the comforting warmth of one another's bodies - John's head on Sherlock's chest, Sherlock's on John's shoulder. After a few moments, the latter raised his head slightly. 

'Oh, and John?'

He simply hummed in reply, eyes closed.

'Do not - touch - yourself. As I've already proven, I _will_ know.'

It was going to be very difficult, but John was determined to behave and do as he was told, if only because it would make Sherlock happy. He would go to bed unsatisfied, and he would not complain about it. This was all his own doing.


	6. A Tricky Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John just cannot do as he is told, can he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I can only apologise for how late this is. My life got very hectic very quickly; my grandad died, them I had a drama exam which nearly went very wrong, and then it was my birthday. I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than usual, but I wanted to give you all something to tide you over. Chapter 7 is in progress and will be completed within a week. For now, enjoy!

For John, doing as he was told was far easier said than done. The day's activities had indeed worked him up quite a lot; even an hour after he'd parted ways with Sherlock, his erection was still holding. Whether it was from their earlier adventures or from the arousing thoughts of his Dom's control, John wasn't sure. He was aware, however, that at this rate he was unlikely to get any sleep, which would never be good when he was at the mercy of the daring detective.

The doctor tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, his body feeling just the wrong side of too warm, and mental images of a very naked Sherlock maintaining his erection, inconsequential to whether or not he wanted it to. At best, he dozed for five or ten minutes at a time; at worst, he lay staring at the ceiling for hours and end. Eventually, as he blinked at the clock turning three thirty, the first whispers of indignation began to creep into his mind.

_What right has Sherlock to say when I can and can't get myself off outside of a scene?_ Admittedly, accompanying this thought was a tendril of guilt, but John was so desperate, so in need of relief, that he quickly dismissed any doubt as these self-believing thoughts continued. _Sure, Sherlock's my Dom, but only when we're playing. It's up to me what I do when he's not here._

Somehow, John managed to convince himself that it was for the good of his health to get off - sleep deprivation could cause problems.

Slowly, the man moved his hand under the covers and towards his boxers; now he'd made the decision to take action on his situation, he let himself get a little excited in anticipation of what would follow. John slipped his right palm under his underwear and, for a few moments, just allowed himself the pleasure of feeling his hand resting freely on his long-suffering, neglected cock. For some reason, the fact that he hadn't been permitted to touch in so long only served to amplify the sensations he experienced, and when he began to rub - _oh, God_ that felt good.

It was extremely tempting to just get straight to it - after being desperate for release for what seemed like a cruel amount of time to John, it was seemingly counterproductive to delay gratification any longer. However, the submissive man remembered the mood Sherlock seemed to be in, and not knowing when his next orgasm may come, he decided to make the most of this one.

As he slowly, reverently stroked his prick, a montage of images played across his mind. On his knees, lips around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock on his back with John riding him. Screaming as a pair of nipple clamps were attatched to his chest. Struggling to breathe as Sherlock's hand closed around his neck.

The number of images became faster, as did the tempo at which John was pleasuring himself; forgetting where he was, he began to make small noises. They were just little gasps and huffs at first, but as the doctor stroked faster and his orgasm drew nearer, the gasps turned into grunts, grunts into groans and groans into moans, as John closed his eyes, dropped his head back and lost himself to the immense pleasure of his own hand.

He knew these sensations would soon be over - he couldn't last much longer - but he refused to slow down; he'd never wanted anything quite so badly before. Just a few more strokes and he'd be there. The tips of his fingers felt like heaven as they rubbed the head of his cock and he teetered on the edge, gasping and opening his eyes -

\- just in time to see the silhouette of his flatmate in the doorway. John's hand jolted off his cock in shock, his heart beating with what could only be described as a concoction of fear and arousal, the two intertwined more deeply than John cared to admit. His hand came away just as he tipped over the edge into orgasm, leaving hot come spurting from his cock, which jerked weakly, untouched. All of the physical effects were there, but none of the satisfaction of an orgasm - the smaller man simply felt drained.

Both men eyed each other across the room, neither of them seeming willing to speak first. John certainly was not going to have the first word; he didn't have to be a deductive genius to understand that he had no defence for his actions.

Eventually, after at least a minute of awkward silence, Sherlock spoke.

'I see you didn't learn your lesson now.'

It was a statement, rather than a question, and John kept quiet.

'What's wrong, _boy_? Cat got your tongue?'

The doctor visibly shivered, but still said nothing. The word 'boy' was so derogatory, so... _belittling_ \- it certainly should not be shooting sparks of arousal through his stomach.

Sherlock sighed, and within that one single breath, John heard all the disappointment his lover had. Hidden in there, however, was also a note of excitement, which made him extremely anxious as to what on earth the detective could be planning. 

'You should be able to sleep now, my dear doctor. After all, you have relieved your erection, which apparently was troubling you so much you directly disobeyed me to achieve the release you so desperately craved.

'Oh, but of course. You ruined your own orgasm, didn't you?' 

The tone of Sherlock's voice was smug, but John's anger at this was overpowered by the deep feelings or regret and nervous anticipation he harboured.

'What a shame. I guess you're going to have to sleep while still feeling unsatisfied. After all, you're going to really need your rest for tomorrow.'

At that, Sherlock turned and left the room with his dressing gown following behind him.

John gulped. If the ominous undertone of the final statement was anything to go by, he really wasn't looking forward to finding out what was going to happen tomorrow.


	7. A Necessary Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John suffers the most testing punishment so far - with surprising results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is up later than I wanted it to be, but I've been on overnights at work, so my sleeping pattern is a bit of a mess. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The first thing John felt as he woke up several hours later was the weight on his thighs. Though not overly significant, it was still too heavy to be comfortable, and as he opened his eyes, he blinked a few times before he identified Sherlock's figure.

The second, and more alarming, realisation was that he was more or less immobile. Having tried to move his arms to shove Sherlock off him, he found that his wrists were fixed in position - more specifically, they were bound to the bedposts of the headboard. Equally, John found it impossible to use his legs to buck Sherlock off, as his ankles were secured at the bottom of the bed. In effect, he was trussed up and spread out for Sherlock to do as he pleased.

'Oh, good. You're awake.'

Not quite having recovered from the shock of waking up in bondage, John was snarky, and rolled his eyes.

'Oh, well spotted-'

Before he could say anything else, he felt the detective's palm across his mouth.

'Shh. I've no need for you to speak. Besides, you'll need to save your vocal cords for later - I wouldn't want you tiring them out so early in the game.'

_Game?_ John wondered, though wisely remained silent, given his... compromising position.

'In fact, let's make this a little easier for you.'

Sherlock reached into his back pocket and retrieved a piece of cloth - was that John's interview tie? - tied in what appeared to be a mouth sized knot. 

He made to place the makeshift gag in John's mouth, but the doctor stubbornly sealed his lips and shook his head, frowning fiercely.

Sherlock sighed with the air of resignation, and murmured,

'I really didn't want to have to do this to you, _slut_. Not yet anyway.'

Before John had time to ponder what 'this' was, he sensed more than saw his flatmate's hand swing through the air, landing with an almighty cracking sound across the doctor's left cheek. The man gasped from the pain, and in the split second after he opened his mouth, Sherlock had forced the tie in and finished off by securing it at the back of his head.

As grunts and muffled words escaped from behind the fabric between John's lips, Sherlock smiled at the bound man, in the way a painter would smile at his masterpiece. 

'That's better. Why must you be so stubborn? You could have just accepted the gag - instead, you now have a hand print on your cheek as well as a silencer in your mouth. Your list of transgressions is really building up, isn't it?'

The volume and pitch of Sherlock's voice, coupled with the muffling effect of the tie, meant that John's noises were coming off more pathetic than indignant, and the detective giggled.

'It's quite endearing, really, how strong-willed you are at the moment. I wonder how quickly that will change - after all, we've seen your reaction to receiving not enough pleasure, so how do you think it will differ from the experience of too much pleasure?'

The look in Sherlock's eyes was almost sadistic, and John paled. This was indeed a dangerous game.

*****

This really was quite an undignified position, John thought grimly, yet it was still the least of his worries. Knees tucked under his chest, ankles bound together and wrists at the small of his back, his arse was left exposed for whatever Sherlock wished to do with it.

Which, apparently, was a significant amount. John whimpered around the cloth gag as the massager in his rectum sent another mild vibration over his prostate, causing his cock to twitch painfully. Meanwhile, Sherlock was stroking up and down his crack with a feather in his left hand, and gently fingering his hole with his right.

His Dom had certainly been accurate in referring to the idea of 'too much pleasure'. Having experienced two orgasms already, the second one less comfortable than he was strictly agreeable with, John was exhausted, and yet his cock was beginning to fill for the third time. Every time the prostate toy vibrated, he felt distorted pleasure through his whole body, and his member hardened that little bit more.

Of course, gagged as he was, he had no way of protesting. Instead, he just made a series of whimpers, sighs and moans as he accepted this use of his body for Sherlock's amusement and gratification.

'Is it too much for you yet, John? Have you had enough?'

The doctor hummed breathlessly in the affirmative, but he felt the bed shift behind him where his flatmate was, and then the fingers burrowed deeper inside him and pressed the vibrator hard against his prostate, making him squeal in agonised pleasure. When the feather stopped moving, a hand closing around his over-sensitive cock instead, John tried unsuccessfully to shift away, his movement extremely limited by his bound position.

Sherlock tutted and removed both of his hands. 'No, slut. Don't try to escape your predicament. You know what to do if you want this to stop.'

The detective held John's left hand in his at this, which was closed around the front door keys to their flat. Rather than dropping them as a safe-signal, however, John's fist closed tighter, and Sherlock hummed in affection.

'You're such a good boy. My good boy can take this for me, can't he?'

In all honestly, the doctor wasn't entirely certain he could - but he was sure as hell going to try.

That was easier said than done, however, when Sherlock reached over to the remote on the bedside table and the vibrations in John's arse suddenly increased in both speed and power. The doctor emitted a high pitched whine, his face shaped with an expression of grim, reluctant pleasure as the pressure on his prostate became almost unbearable. As Sherlock moved to face John, the submissive's eyes begged to stop, begged for even a little relief, but his fist remained firm around the keys, so the detective merely smirked and shook his head, watching as John's cock hardened even more, jerking and twitching painfully. 

With a resigned grunt, John hung his head, and accepted that this torturous pleasure would continue for as long as he withheld his safe-signal. He could feel yet another orgasm building - it was slow going, and the sensations were so at war within his body that he was unable to work out whether that was better or worse.

His orgasm continued to work up, until John was sure he would come - and then he just... didn't. The release was there, he'd been right on the edge, and his cock softened, but he hadn't ejaculated. Apparently, his previous releases had used all seminal fluid - he had come dry.

All of a sudden, the vibrations stopped. At seeing John's dry orgasm, Sherlock turned the massager off.

'We're done. You made it.'

John looked up at Sherlock with tired eyes, and the detective smiled gently.

'I'm so proud of you; you were so good for me. Well done for taking your punishment like a good boy.'

The doctor's body visibly sagged at the praise, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. 'Thank you,' the taller man whispered in his ear, before John began to shake softly. Leaning back, Sherlock frowned - his sub was crying. 

'I'm going to remove the gag now, and then you can tell me what the matter is. Is that okay?'

John nodded, sniffing. Sherlock reached forward and untied the knot at the back of the older man's head, removing the fabric from his mouth.

'Okay. What's wrong? I'm asking you as an equal now, not just as your Dom. Was...' For a moment there was an expression of insecurity on the detective's face, but it was gone before it could be noted. 'Was it something I did?'

John shook his head firmly, trying to contain his tears. 

'No, not at all. You were great, you really were. I'm just exhausted.' 

The doctor gave out a tired chuckle, and Sherlock smiled in relief.

'Here, let me untie you, and then we'll get a shower. Does that sound good to you?'

John smiled in return. 

'That sounds very good to me.'

*****

John snuggled into Sherlock, who had his arms wrapped around John's middle where they lay on the bed.

'Would you like to tell me why you were crying now? I'm not forcing you to do anything, but I really think we should talk about it.'

John looked into Sherlock's face, and saw traces of genuine worry in the detective's face. 

'It was nothing you did, I promise. You... you were amazing. I've never felt so content with anyone else before, honestly. It was just - it was so overwhelming, to have somebody paying me so much attention like that. I know it was a punishment, and I did feel my limits being pushed, but I didn't mind at all.  
'When we stopped, everything caught up to me, and that's why I cried. I wasn't upset, or unhappy, I was just adjusting. And I have now, thanks to you.'

John noticed that not once had Sherlock interrupted - in fact, he had been still and listened intently. The doctor decided he liked his new flatmate-come-Dom, and his apparently newfound manners.

The detective tightened his hold, and murmured into John's ear.

'I'm so proud of what you've done today. I'll admit, I didn't plan to take it as far as I did, but you were doing so well I just wanted to see how much more we could do. That's why I was terrified when you cried - I was so scared I'd pushed too hard, gone too far... you were brilliant.'

John leaned into Sherlock's chest. 'You'd know if I wasn't happy. I never dropped the keys, did I? You were amazing too.'

His partner hummed, smiling.

'Well, I think you've more than made amends for your various acts of disobedience, haven't you? I think tomorrow, if you're amenable, we'll return to your list. Let's see where that takes us, hmm?'

John would never admit it - not yet, anyway - but the thought of that made his heart beat with excitement. He couldn't wait to see what Sherlock would think of his system, and of his answers.


	8. A Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John discovers what life can be like with Sherlock when there are no impending punishments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it's taken me so long to update this. I do have good intentions for this piece, but I'm really struggling to write anything at the moment, so I apologise that this chapter isn't as long as I'd like. I'm going to try to get another chapter up this month - I'm not promising, but I'll do my best.

'Sherlock, I'm back.'

John entered their flat with four shopping bags and made his way through the living room into the kitchen. He made to place the shopping on the table, but was unable to clear a space around Sherlock's latest experiment. Rolling his eyes, he left them on the kitchen side instead. 

Turning around, he faced Sherlock, who was lying in his usual position on the sofa. 'Do you want tea?'

No reply.

He sighed and moved closer, nudging the other man.

'Sherlock. Sherlock, would you like a cup of tea?'

With a hum and a shake of his head, Sherlock focused his eyes on John, pulling him into his lap.

'No, but I can think of something far better for us to do.'

John laughed, straddling his legs.

'I'm sure you can, but first I have to put the shopping away, get the dishwasher on and put a load in the washing machine. Your idea...' - he punctuated this with a chaste kiss on the lips - '...will have to wait.' At this, he stood up and returned to the kitchen. 'Are you sure you don't want tea?'

*****

'Let's get you warmed up then, shall we, slut?'

'Hmm, yes sir.'

John grinned in excitement for what was to come. With no outstanding punishments, the pair of lovers were free to enjoy their dynamic without anything to overshadow them, and John was taking full advantage of it. Sherlock seemed to be in a very loving mood today; he had stripped John's clothes, piece by piece as he lay on their bed, caressing his skin delicately throughout. Now, he couldn't stop kissing him, and John relaxed into this gentle treatment, his tongue and mouth being won over by Sherlock.

John groaned as he felt his legs being encouraged to spread, Sherlock using his feet to push them apart. His torso lay flush against the doctor's, and his arms were pinning John's above both of their heads. Releasing his lover from what was a very heated kiss, leaving him panting and breathless, Sherlock sat up and grinned smugly at the form below him. It was a grin that made John - how did it make him feel? Nervous, yes, but also very, very excited. It made him feel at the complete mercy of the clever detective, and if that wasn't the most exhilarating feeling...

A bright, burning pain flared in John's left cheek, and he was brought back to the present by the sound of Sherlock tutting.

'Concentrate on me, boy. No drifting off.' The detective lowered his body until he was nose-to-nose with the quivering body beneath him. 'I want you to be aware of, to experience, to _feel_ every single thing I do to you. Is that understood?' 

John attempted to hum in agreement, but was cut short by the taller man's teeth, which gripped onto his lower lip and held until blood was drawn. The hum turned into what was a frankly erotic groan, in the detective's esteemed opinion, and Sherlock had no way to respond other than to grind his pelvis into the doctor's, chuckling darkly. 

'By the end of tonight's... proceedings, I will have you so wound up that when I eventually let you come, you will forget your own name. In fact, the only remaining piece of information in your mind will be - in fact, you tell me. What will be the last name on your lips, slut?' 

John thought quickly. 

'Yours, Sh- Sir.' 

A backhand to his left cheek forced his head to the right. He tried again. 

'Sherlock.' 

'Wrong.' This time, the older man's head snapped to the left as he received another slap. 

'Hnnnggg, sir!' 

'Aha, I knew you'd get there eventually.' 

Sherlock, with a sudden burst of energy, sprang up off the bed. 

'Up. Hands and knees, John', he ordered, as he turned his back to the sub and walked over to the chest of drawers. John wanted to watch, wanted to know what would happen next, but decided that it would be better to do as Sherlock - no, as Sir said. Besides, the anticipation was half the fun, wasn't it? 

After a few moments, John felt a light breeze which indicated that the detective was behind him, followed by two hands, one on each cheek, to confirm. What he did not expect, however, was the tongue which attacked the ring of muscle in between with such ferocity that the man surged forward, releasing an involuntary groan. 

A sharp slap to his arse quickly encouraged him back into position. 

'Be still, toy,' Sherlock growled. 'Do I have to tie you?' 

Unsure whether he was allowed to speak, John shook his head vehemently. As enticing as the prospect of being immobile was, the doctor had no idea what he might need his hands for later on. It was best to keep them free - for now. 

'That's better,' Sherlock whispered, before returning to the intense action on John's arsehole. This time, the sub was prepared, and managed to resist any strong movement, but he couldn't stop himself quivering - the motions of Sherlock's tongue was already driving him completely insane. 

After an indeterminable amount of time - it could have been minutes or hours, John had no idea - Sherlock relented. By this point, the Doctor's prick was nearly purple with desperation and his skin was sweaty all over. He thought he would do anything to be allowed to come, but was too scared of the consequences if he begged, so he remained silent. 

'I have an idea.' 

Oh no. God no, that was Sherlock's case voice, when he'd found a particularly interesting murder, one he could really get his teeth into. This could not bode well for John - yet, despite his anxiety, the shorter man couldn't stop himself being a little excited at what could possibly be going through Sherlock's brain. 

The detective moved to sit in front of John, who was still on all fours, and took his chin gently between thumb and forefinger. 

'How would you like to put your cock in my mouth?' 

The doctor's eyes widened. Surely his Dom wasn't serious - was he? To have Sherlock suck him off... that would be the greatest honour, one he thought he would never be allowed. Surely there must be some kind of... ah. 

Sherlock laughed. As if reading John's mind, he said, 'Of course, there is a catch.' 

John blinked nervously. 

'For ten minutes, I will put my mouth around your little prick. I will try everything I can to make you explode, while you use everything in your power to resist. If I win, and you come down my throat, that will be your last orgasm for a month. Oh, last proper orgasm that is. You will spend the month in chastity, with weekly milking until you are dry. Let me tell you, it will not be pleasant.' 

Just the thought of that made John's stomach churn, yet strangely, his cock jumped too. 

The coy smile remained on Sherlock's lips as he continued. 

'However, if you win, I will allow you the pleasure of fucking my mouth to release, as well as two free passes to do the same again whenever you like - excluding punishments, of course. So,' the detective pushed his thumb into his sub's mouth, pressing down on his tongue. 'What do you say?' 


	9. An Impossible Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will John accept Sherlock's proposition? And what will happen if he does?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm back! Two chapters in two months isn't bad for me! I have a new laptop now, so it's easier to write, and I'm intending to post one chapter every month, we'll see how it goes. For now, enjoy!

Chapter 9

John looked into Sherlock’s eyes, luminescent and alive as they’d ever been. The thumb in his mouth was a small comfort in the face of such a huge challenge. He knew Sherlock had asked him aloud if he wanted to do this… task, for want of a better word, but both men were aware of the elephant in the room – it wasn’t really a question, and if it were, John would never even dream of declining.

What the clever detective had proposed was in equal parts exciting and terrifying, and it was making the poor doctor confused at his own feelings. On the one hand, Sherlock’s offer to suck him off made John want to stick his prick into the detective’s mouth there and then – this was something he always thought he’d be on the giving end of, so to have the tables turned… the doctor’s heart raced at the thought. On the other hand, Sherlock would never have offered if he wasn’t sure he was going to win, so that would mean that John would need some pretty impressive resistance to the younger man’s methods if he wanted to beat him. Would he be able to do it?

The doctor thought about the alternative, what Sherlock had threatened – no, promised – if John lost their challenge. No orgasms for a month? Before Sherlock, John was used to several a week. Fair enough, not daily like his younger years, he was getting on a bit, but even with Sherlock, his pattern hadn’t changed that much – it just meant that the exact nature of his release was usually determined by his dark haired Dom. So the idea that he wouldn’t be allowed any, for four whole weeks, was quite frankly horrifying. The older man was sure of this, and yet. There was something very erotic about the idea that Sherlock, if victorious, would have complete control over John’s cock and its release. He would have the power to deny John pleasure, and hell if that didn’t sent all the blood in his body to his traitorous member. Also, John was hung up on the specific vocabulary his lover had used. ‘You will spend the month in chastity…’ What did that mean, exactly? Was it the most basic definition of the word – no touching or orgasms? Or would Sherlock use equipment? A ring? A cage? The thought made the sub’s throat go dry.

A stage cough brought John back to the present, and to Sherlock, who had clearly been watching John’s thought processes on his face and had probably deduced every one of his feelings from the twitch of his right eyebrow or something. The detective had a knowing grin on his face, and even though he appeared slightly predatory, John was overwhelmed with how much he loved his Dom.

Sherlock huffed impatiently at the unspoken realisation. ‘For heaven’s sake John, we’ll have time for sentiment later. For now, I need your answer. Are you up to the challenge?’

There was only one response the doctor could possibly give.

‘Oh God, yes.’

*****

Thirty seconds in, John was already worrying about his ability to resist for a whole ten minutes. Of course, he wasn’t a teenager, he could resist for a fair amount of time, but Jesus Christ, Sherlock was doing things with his tongue that the unsuspecting doctor hadn’t even thought possible. After he had agreed to take part, the detective had got John to perch on the edge of their bed; that’s where he was now, his legs spread with his Dom knelt between them. He had one hand grasping the duvet tightly, and the other holding a stopwatch, which seemed to be moving one second a minute. John was seriously doubting he’d be able to last.

The doctor looked down at his lover in such a submissive position on the floor. The mere sight gave John a headrush; though submissive at heart, the apparent switch in their power dynamic was exhilarating. It made him breathless and his cock twitched, resulting in the exquisite sensation of the head rubbing against the roof of Sherlock’s mouth. The pleasure was such that John’s hand flew from the bed to tangle in the detective’s hair – the latter man, however, was having none of it.

John’s prick came free of Sherlock’s mouth with a crude pop.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ the Dom warned, before laying two harsh slaps to the sensitive inside of each of John’s thighs, causing him to gasp sharply. ‘I didn’t say you could touch, did I boy?’

‘No sir, sorry sir,’ the older man replied sheepishly. He was genuinely repentant, if only so his detective would return to the amazing ministrations on his needy prick. 

‘That’s better. Let that be your only warning, slut.’ With that, Sherlock closed his lips around John’s sensitive cockhead, causing amazing vibrations around it which John could only guess he was doing by… pursing his lips? He didn’t know, he just knew that he needed to distract himself from just how fucking wonderful it felt if he wanted to have any chance of beating Sherlock at his wager. But it was just so difficult when the detective was tonguing at his slit like that and using _just_ enough teeth to add another layer to the tower of pleasure that was already building. 

‘Hnnnngg, oh my god!’ John moaned in a crescendo as he felt his Dom’s talented tongue swirl around his cock several times before taking his entire length down his throat in one go.

The doctor had never felt anything so perfect in all his life, and if he died right then, it would be a fond farewell. Of course, girls had given him blowjobs in the past, but all of those were nothing, nothing compared to what Sherlock was doing right now. The throat his cock was lodged in was hot, wet, tight, and it was all John could do not to start thrusting, the challenge be damned. But then Sherlock started moving and all was right with the world. He took slow, languorous pulls on John cock, letting all but the head slip out before taking him to the hilt once again. The sub began panting as he felt his balls draw tighter to his body, his orgasm steadily building as Sherlock sucked and licked at him.

‘Mmmmnnnn, Christ I’m close Sherlock, you have to stop!’

But of course he didn’t – in fact, the detective sped up his thrusts, being merciless with his boy’s member until the doctor exploded with a vocal cry, his seed filling Sherlock’s mouth and throat, a little escaping to drip down his chin.

The younger man swallowed with a loud gasp and gestured to the stopwatch in John’s hand, a dark smile playing on his lips. 

‘Four minutes twenty-seven, slut: not even half way. How disappointing.’

A cocktail of fear and shock filled John’s face with the realisation of what had just happened. He was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love it if you could pay my wordpress a visit: writingforsharing.wordpress.com


	10. An Unexpected Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to terms with his defeat, Sherlock's victory - and the consequences it will have on their activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm back! I'm so sorry that it took so long to get this out, my life is upside down at the moment and I'm not sure how to feel about any of it. Also, apologies for the length, I just wanted to get another chapter done - there will be another one before long though, I promise. For now, I hope you like this.

John was in a state of shock. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and he knew that, was Sherlock not revelling in his triumph, he would have made some derisive comment about how unintelligent John looked. As it was, the detective took the stopwatch from his hand and threw it aside, smirking. 

‘Well, I hope you enjoyed the orgasm I just took from you, slut. That will be your last one for four weeks.’ The look in his eyes could only be described as predatory, and the doctor floundered, knowing that the coming month was going to bring out the extremes of Sherlock’s sadistic tendencies. The worst thing was that, even terrified of what his Dom might do to him, he was incredibly excited.

‘But Sh- Sir, I- I don’t know…’ 

John was silenced abruptly as Sherlock placed a finger on his lips, effectively closing them. ‘Quiet, boy. You knew the rules, you accepted the challenge – now suffer the consequences.’

There was nothing to be done but agree.

*****

Afterwards, they had showered together, and Sherlock cleaned the remains of their activities from John’s body with delicate touches which were both tender and comforting. The doctor didn’t know whether to be worried or reassured – it could be a precursor for Sherlock’s behaviour over the coming month, but it was just as likely that this was the calm before the storm. However, whichever option turned out to be correct, John was excited. 

Now, they were settled in the bed they shared, a calendar and pen in Sherlock’s hand.

‘Okay, pet. Let me explain what is going to happen.’ He used the hand that wasn’t writing to tousle the doctor’s hair. ‘Today is Saturday, yes? Therefore, every Saturday for the next four weeks, we will schedule a milking by prostate stimulation for you.’

John gulped, and his trepidation was clear to the ever-observant detective, for he smiled darkly at his sub. ‘Yes, John. You are not allowed to orgasm, at least not in the traditional sense, but that does not mean that I have to be denied the pleasure of emptying your balls without you feeling any kind of relief.’

The way the detective was talking caused John’s member to begin to swell, and the doctor cringed inwardly. Why did he have to begin the next month’s torture already?

Sherlock continued, ‘Tomorrow, we are going shopping for a cock cage.’ The emphasis was firmly placed on the word ‘cock’ and John knew it was deliberately intended to increase his arousal, otherwise the detective would have called it a chastity cage.

‘You will wear the cage throughout all of our sexual relations unless I decide otherwise. It will only be removed at night time before bed; that is when you will be required to edge for me, in any way I choose. We will keep the same routine every night, so you will be required to edge, but not come, every night. Any questions so far?’

The doctor thought for a second. ‘Will you… will I be wearing the cage overnight?’

‘I thought about that a great deal,’ Sherlock said, smirking. ‘And while originally I was going to replace the cage after your nightly edge, I have decided that I don’t want to make it easy for you, so you will have to control yourself while sleeping. After all, you thought you could control your traitorous prick earlier – here’s your chance to try again.’

It didn’t matter how the Dom phrased it, it was obvious that John was being given more opportunities to fail. After all, if he had a particularly… graphic dream, he had no control over whether or not he would come – and Sherlock knew it. So what would happen if he did have an orgasm?

‘Finally, I must make clear to you the consequences should you come during this period of denial. For every time you orgasm without my permission, we will start the four weeks all over again from the nearest Saturday. So the less control you have over your impulses, the longer you give control to me. Am I clear?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Quite frankly, the doctor had no idea how to feel. He was excited for the challenge, and to see how sadistic Sherlock really was, but he had never gone this long without an orgasm and had no idea how he would be with the whole thing. Logical as ever, he resolved to sleep on it and to take it one day at a time. He leant up to Sherlock, kissed him chastely, and turned over to sleep. Before he could even get comfortable, however, a sharp slap was delivered to his thigh, and he gasped, turning to face his lover once more.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something, slut?’

John was bewildered. ‘Sorry, Sir?’

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed. 

‘Edge for me. Now.’


	11. A Wake-Up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up on his first day of denial, which turns out to be more enjoyable for Sherlock than himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! I have so many ideas for this story but when it comes to writing every chapter I really struggle and I don't know why. But this is the next one!

Thanks to Sherlock’s victory in the challenge he had set, or perhaps more accurately, John’s defeat, the doctor had a very restless night to start his four week denial. As per the rules laid out by the sly detective, John had been made to wank right to the edge of his orgasm for Sherlock’s viewing pleasure, and his every instinct fought against him as he reluctantly pulled his had away from his cock seconds before it would have exploded all over his palm. He had groaned in frustration and turned over grumpily as Sherlock settled with a smirk on his face, intending to sleep, but of course, his persistent erection prevented that for most of the night.

And so it was that, at nine o clock the next morning, John awoke from his six hours of sleep with the usual morning glory. Not forgetting his restrictions but needing at least an ounce of relief, he moved his palm to his crotch and adjusted his member inside his underwear. 

‘I hope you don’t have any plans for that, slut.’

John blinked and glanced towards their bedroom doorway, where Sherlock, the smug bastard, was standing – naked. The detective’s lithe body was mesmerising to look at, especially with the morning sunshine seeping through the curtains and highlighting his shape in all the right places. 

‘No, Sir,’ the doctor replied. ‘I was just making myself more comfortable.'

‘Oh, were you now? Hmm… I think I’d quite like it if you made me more comfortable, pet. What do you think?’ With his words, Sherlock gestured towards his own prick, which had begun to fill out at the sight of John’s arousal. 

John smiled. Just because he couldn’t come, he could still enjoy sex and other physical relations, and he fully intended to.

‘Well, Sir, you could fuck my mouth if you liked. Would that be comfortable?’

The detective raised his eyebrows in a smirk and stalked forward, sitting on the bed. ‘You know what to do, John.’ 

The latter man pulled himself off the bed and settled at Sherlock’s feet, staring at his Dom’s cock hungrily. Sherlock laced both hands in his sub’s hair, pulling his head forward slowly. John’s lips parted to allow entrance to the head, which was beginning to redden.

Both parties started slowly, Sherlock barely moving – he simply allowed the doctor to do all the work. 

John pulled out every trick he knew, swirling his tongue around the shaft and licking at the slit, tasting salt and just a trace of urine. He sucked at the tip, producing a popping sound which had Sherlock groaning.

As John continued it was clear that the detective was growing more aroused and more impatient; he started to pull at John’s hair, and almost of their own accord, his hips thrust forward and backward repeatedly, causing the tip of his cock to bump the back of the doctor’s throat none too gently. A particularly vicious thrust caused him to gag slightly, and at the noise he made Sherlock lost it. He gripped tightly and thrust relentlessly into the heat of his sub’s mouth. John gave up on licking and sucking, allowing Sherlock to simply use his mouth, relishing the sensations every time his Dom’s cock blocked his airway. Before long, he had tears streaming down his cheeks, and was still loving every second.

‘God, John, your mouth… nnngghh, I’ll never tire of this,’ the detective moaned, and John knew he was close – that was when he became more vocal. ‘How do you feel, pet? Hmm? Oh…’

Sherlock thrust forward and groaned as he stilled, spilling his release over the back of his sub’s throat. John made a gagging sound and swallowed as much as he could, but a small drop slipped out as the younger man pulled out, tutting. 

‘Such a messy little pup, aren’t you?’

The way Sherlock talked to him was not helping his ever-present erection, and almost against his own will, his hips started to thrust forward into thin air.

‘Aw, is my baby desperate? Do you want to come?’ The detective’s tone was condescending and it only served to heighten John’s arousal. The answer to the question was of course an affirmative, but of course the challenge was very much still on, so he shook his head, trying not to give Sherlock the satisfaction. However, the latter man was obviously much smarter than that, and he sighed dramatically.

‘Oh, that’s such a shame. After that spectacular performance, I was ready to call the whole thing off and let you work yourself to completion while I watched. I guess you’re just enjoying my control too much.’

At that, John panicked. ‘No Sir, please, Sir I meant-’ 

But Sherlock cut him off. ‘No, slut, it’s too late. You shouldn’t try and be smart with me – you know I always win.’ Before the doctor could utter another word, his lover pulled on his silk dressing gown and left the room, leaving John on the floor with his prick, which still refused to flag. This was going to be a very long month.


	12. Not A Chapter Please Don't Hate Me

This is just an author's note - I'm sorry, to those of you are still reading, that it's not the chapter I promised a while ago. I've been through some stuff - go to my tumblr if you want to know more - but right now, I'm very happy and have written a whole 136 words of Chapter 12! I'm still finding it very difficult to express my ideas, but I'm getting there. Hopefully there will be an update sometime soon. Until then, please just hang on!


	13. An Ambiguous Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday, the day that John has been dreading, and Sherlock has something up his sleeve (or in his bedside table).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's here! Thank you to ReticentObsessive, Sherlocksbeehive, NyraSmith, eragon19, Alihahdnaid, minijaxter, Avidreader6 and everyone else who has been so supportive of me; you have all encouraged me to write and I think I'm finally back on track. I'm currently in the process of sorting out a uni place for September, so no regular updates yet, but I am writing as much as I can, so watch this space! For now, enjoy the new chapter, and thanks for sticking with me.

All things considered, John was quite proud of the way he handled himself during that first week. Of course, it was by no means easy; even without Sherlock forcing him to edge every night – sometimes once, sometimes over and over again – the doctor would have struggled not to touch himself. So with his flatmate torturing him every night, keeping his hands off behind closed doors was nearly impossible, especially as they hadn’t even been to buy a cage yet. However, John was determined to behave, mainly because he did not want this to last any longer than necessary, though the increased affection from Sherlock was nice too. 

Of course, John hadn’t been milked yet, and he was dreading Saturday so much that he just pretended there wasn’t going to be a Saturday. But then it came…

The doctor woke up with his usual erection and ignored it, as he had grown accustomed to doing, as he rolled over to face his boyfriend, who was unsurprisingly wide awake. There was something about the look on his face that made John feel nervous, and he bit his lip as his eyes scanned Sherlock with suspicion. Of course, if he let himself admit it, he knew what Sherlock’s expression was about – sort of a smug smile, his eyebrows slightly raised and his pupils blown. But the older man refused to think about the thing he was most worried about today.

‘Morning, slut’, the detective murmured lovingly, lifting his hand to run it through his lover’s soft hair. 

John hummed in appreciation. ‘G’morning, Sir’.

‘How’s your desperate little cock today, hmm?’ Sherlock punctuated his words by pulling the aforementioned appendage gently, letting it bounce back against John’s stomach and causing him to moan. Other than that though, there was no reply, and the doctor received a harsh slap to his inner thigh as a result. ‘I asked you a question, boy. You know I expect an answer.’

‘Sorry, Sir. My cock is still desperate.’ Speaking about it as if it had feelings of its own was humiliating, and yet this only turned John on even more. ‘It’s going to be so hard to last for three more weeks.’

The detective smirked. ‘No pun intended?’ 

John groaned.

‘Anyway, you know what day this is, boy, don’t you?’

‘Saturday, Sir’, the smaller man answered, turning over onto his back to avoid looking at Sherlock.

‘Mm,’ Sherlock agreed. ‘And what happens on Saturday?’

‘I… I don’t know, Sir.’ Of course he did, but he would rather die than admit it willingly.

‘Uh-uh, that’s not the right answer, John. Try again.’

The use of his name softened the doctor slightly, and he accepted the fact that whether it was sooner or later, he was going to have to say it out loud. He might as well make it sooner.

‘You’re – you’re going to milk me, Sir.’ John sighed. There was no nicer way of saying that.

‘That’s right, boy. I am. But not until later. Right now, I have something for you.’ He turned over to reach into the drawer in the bedside cabinet, in doing so allowing John a very rewarding view of his lithe body. His waist curved inwards and accentuated his very attractive behind. John was so busy staring that he did not pay attention to what Sherlock had in his hand – until he looked up and laid horrified eyes on the metal contraption.

‘No, Sir. Please, I don’t need-‘

‘Shh, slut. I know what you need. You _need_ to wear this today to get used to it, before your milking later, so right now, we need to get that erection down.’ 

John groaned inwardly, but dared not protest any more. ‘Would you like me to fetch the ice, Sir?’ he suggested reluctantly.

‘Oh, good boy,’ Sherlock praised, stroking a warm hand over John’s cheek and lingering on his neck before letting go. ‘Go ahead – and no touching yourself along the way. I’ll know.’ 

Gracefully, John left the bed and headed to the kitchen in all his naked glory, knowing for a fact that Sherlock would be admiring him from behind and therefore adding a seductive sway to his hips that wasn’t usually present when he walked. 

‘Oh, John, you tease!’ Sherlock growled from the bedroom. John just giggled, helping some of his nerves to dissipate a little. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice, then returned to Sherlock’s waiting arms. The detective was propped up on one elbow, leaving his chest free for John to lean on and allowing his other arm to wrap around his sub, glass in hand. Sherlock didn’t beat around the bush – he simply grabbed a couple of cubes and pressed them to John’s balls.

Other than a gasp, the doctor was very well behaved and didn’t move, enduring the discomfort until his prick became flaccid. 

‘There. All set.’ Sherlock retrieved the cage from where it lay on the pillow and before John knew it, his cock was enclosed with in it – in this, as in everything, the younger man was nothing if not efficient. 

‘How does it feel?’ he asked.

Being perfectly honest, John wasn’t sure. It wasn’t painful, he knew that much, but other than that, he didn’t really know how to describe it – it was just… _there_. 

‘Uh, I don’t know. It’s fine, I suppose. It’s not uncomfortable at least.’

‘Good. Now, you should be able to use the toilet as normal, but this part here-‘ the detective demonstrated by lifting the bottom bar of the cage, allowing access to the head of John’s penis ‘-can be lifted if necessary.’

‘Okay. Thank you, Sir.’ John relaxed against Sherlock’s torso and the former man massaged his shoulders. ‘You’re very welcome, John. Remember, you’ve already done one week – I know you can do three more.’

And though he knew it was going to be difficult, at that moment, enveloped in his lover’s warm embrace, John genuinely believed he could.


	14. A Deserved Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally we get around to the milking scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I've worked out that the reason it takes me so long to get around to writing this is because the story is something I really want to read, rather than write. However, I am going to stick with it, seeing as the only way I can read it is by writing it, but I'm not going to promise any update schedule or anything like that. I'm just going to do my best.

The rest of the day passed without much incident; they took lunch at Angelo’s, and in the afternoon, John reviewed the latest comments on his blog while Sherlock played a mixture of erratic and gentle pieces on his violin. He would occasionally place a gentle kiss on top of the doctor’s head, but with this exception very little passed between the two men.

John tried hard to concentrate on replying to the many comments he had to work through, but it was difficult when the knowledge of events which would soon come lay so heavy on his shoulders. After reading a particular review three times without having a clue what it said, he gave up, sighing heavily and closing his laptop. He spun on his chair to find that Sherlock had stopped playing his violin and was stood with his weight to one side, looking at his lover pensively.

‘It’s time,’ he murmured, holding his hand out. Almost reluctantly, John took it and stood.

‘Yes, Sir.’ He followed as Sherlock led him into the bedroom, and obeyed when the detective gestured for him to remove his clothes.

‘Is the cage causing you any problems, slut?’ the younger man asked, and John replied in the negative, though with his derogatory epithet being used, it was just now becoming too tight to be comfortable.

‘Hmm, good. Now this will work best if you get yourself onto all fours on the bed. You can use a pillow to rest your arms and head on if you like.’

The doctor positioned himself accordingly, lying his head on his arms in front of him. His arse was in the air facing Sherlock, which made him feel highly vulnerable and open to anything the Dom wanted to do to him – which, of course, was the idea.

‘Now, just for today, I’m going to use my fingers only. For future sessions, I may decide to use toys or other means to milk you, but I don’t wish to overwhelm you more than necessary on this occasion. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ John replied shakily, anticipation clear in his voice.

‘Good, then I’ll begin.’

From behind him, the sub heard the clear snap of a latex glove that Sherlock wore – the clinical feel that this gave the situation would have had John hard as a rock if the cage had allowed it. As it was, his dick just pressed against its confinement uncomfortably. Sherlock opened a bottle of lube and made his lover gasp as he dribbled the cold substance first onto his exposed arsehole, and then on his gloved hand. He began to massage the lube around John’s entrance, paying particular attention to his perineum, before, without warning, he inserted a finger to the second knuckle.

‘Oh, God!’ 

The doctor exclaimed at the sudden intrusion, earning him a harsh slap from his lover’s free hand.

‘Ssh, John. You may make as much as noise as you like, but the only word I want to hear is my name. Are we clear?’

‘Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.’ The older man apologised, biting his tongue nervously.  
‘Good.’ Sherlock began to move his embedded finger in and out, making sure John had grown used to the sensation before adding another. This time, he wasted no time thrusting aimlessly, instead angling his digits and locating the prostate almost immediately. As he brushed the sensitive gland, John almost choked on his inhale, the sensation sending shivers all over his body and causing his trapped prick to make a failed attempt at growing hard. It was such a strange sensation that John didn’t know what to make of it – it was pleasure, but in a way that his body couldn’t process, which just left him feeling weirdly unsatisfied.

He was therefore ill-prepared to handle the onslaught of sensations which followed after the initial contact. Sadistically, Sherlock began to manipulate the little pleasure centre mercilessly, stroking it with no relent, which caused the doctor to begin moaning and squirming within less than a minute.

‘Oh, oooh, unghhhh, Sir, I don’t’-

Another slap to the same cheek as earlier reminded John of his prohibition from speaking, and he was reduced to incoherent whimpers and groans. He had no idea how to deal with the tidal wave of supposed pleasure being inflicted on him – with his desperate prick imprisoned, the sensations had nowhere to go, and the poor doctor was confused as to whether he wanted to pull away or thrust onto the fingers he was impaled on. 

A wave of insecurity came over him suddenly, and for no good reason he could put his finger on, he was crying into the pillow. Sherlock didn’t slow down in his ministrations, but he did offer words of reassurance.

‘Don’t worry John, it’s okay to cry, natural in fact, especially when it’s your first time experiencing something like this. It’s your body’s way of dealing with what’s happening to you.’ With his free hand, the detective stroked his sub’s back affectionately, calming him to a degree. He felt the sub’s arsehole tighten slightly around his fingers. ‘We’re close now.’

Sure enough, John felt his balls draw up, which was an unusual feeling with his cock caged, and before he could process what was happening, he felt semen begin to leak from his member. He had no idea how to describe it – unlike a regular orgasm, where the come was forcefully ejaculated, in this instance it kind of drooled out, leaking until it eventually stopped with the last few drops. As he finished, Sherlock gently removed his fingers, and the doctor tried to work out how he felt. It was like his balls had been emptied as with a normal orgasm, but he felt none of the release or satisfaction. He had stopped crying in any case, which made him feel slightly better.

‘Good boy, John. I’m so proud of my little slut,’ Sherlock muttered. 

‘Thank you, Sir,’ John replied, sitting up and turning around for a kiss, but the detective placed a finger to his lips.

‘Ah-ah, not yet. Don’t you have a mess to clean up?’

The doctor’s cheeks turned the colour of beetroot, and he swallowed as the humiliation took hold. Without another word, he lowered his tongue to the puddle that his ejaculate had made on the bedsheets, closed his eyes, and licked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be aftercare next chapter don't worry, I just thought this was a good place to finish.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come and say hi on tumblr: twowhovianhearts.tumblr.com


End file.
